62nd Hunger Games
by FrozenXTitanicXHungerGames
Summary: Oceana Floreen is unwillingly reaped into the Hunger Games alongside her worst enemy at school. How will she cope? Will she survive? And who can she trust as allies? Non-SYOT and T to be safe.


**Hey guys! This is my first HG FanFiction, no hate in the comments please! Also, I was meant to publish sooner but I was ill for a few days...enjoy!**

Chapter 1

"Oceana? It's nearly ten o'clock!"

I wake up to my younger sister, Mae-Anna, holding open my left eyelid with her fingers. I brush her roughly away, and mutter "I never get an extra five minutes, do I?" to nobody in particular.

It would be just like any other day except for the fact it is the day of the reaping. An overly-made-up escort will be sent from the Capitol to select two people aged twelve to eighteen, one of each gender, to compete in the 62nd Annual Hunger Games.

District 10, our home, has not had a victor in eleven years, and that was only because our victor kept warm while the rest of the tributes succumbed to the elements and died of exposure. Last year my best friend from kindergarten was chosen. She never returned. The whole nation gawped as she reached the final ten, only to be savaged to death by a rabid muttation. I covered my eyes; watching would stab me in the heart and I would never sleep again.

When Mae-Anna has left me in peace to dress, I throw my pajamas on the floor. I consider things for a moment. Normally I would just leave them there, but today will be difficult for my parents so I vow to myself to be as helpful as possible. I fold them up and place them neatly under my flattened pillow. Ambling to the bathroom, I glimpse myself in the dusty mirror. My light blonde hair is sticking up in goodness knows how many directions and my blue eyes are lidded and heavy with sleep. _Oh great, _I think. _I need about twenty baths before I can look presentable. _

After a vicious scrubbing with the meagre ration of soap we are allowed, I brush my shoulder-length locks and towel myself dry. I choose my best outfit out of the few clothes I own; a simple white shirt and a navy blue pinafore with a light blue sash. The shirt has a scorch mark where I accidentally burnt it while ironing last night. Luckily the strap of my pinafore hides it, just about. The dress is getting rather small and only just reaches my knees, and I am surprised at how much I have grown this year. I wore the exact same outfit last year, at my first reaping. The only change I have made is that I am wearing knee-high grey socks; last year they were white. I tie a ribbon identical to the one around my waist in my hair and exit my room I share with my sister and brother.

Wandering into the kitchen, I take a deep breath through my nose. The bread from the bakery is still fresh. I take in the aroma, sighing contentedly. Only now do I hear a little nagging voice in the back of my mind; _savour it while you can. It could be your last breakfast with your family._ I'm glad I have the common sense to ignore it. Stupid imagination.

The back door rattles open on its rusting hinges and in steps my father. In his hand he carries a cardboard carton of eggs only recently laid by the chickens in our backyard. He sees me in my best outfit and mocks bowing down to royalty. "Would her majesty like some egg and toast?" he says in a ridiculous impersonation of a Capitol accent. I giggle and nod yes.

Within ten minutes my breakfast is ready and placed in front of me, but what appetite I had has long since disappeared. Still, I try to eat a few mouthfuls. Don't want my stomach rumbling during the reaping. That would be awkward.

I try not to think of the ten slips of paper with my name written in meticulous handwriting inside the glass reaping ball. If I hadn't signed up for tesserae only two copies of my name would be entered, but since the drought last year there hasn't been enough rations to go round. That's when my family got desperate, and I felt pressured to sign up for extra grain and oil. My parents tried to stop me, but I was getting sick of going to sleep on an empty stomach.

Suddenly, my younger brother and Mae-Anna's twin, Lennie, comes dashing in with his 'sword,' which is really just a broken branch from a tree. One would not dream of the luxury of a proper toy sword in District 10. I smile at him, but deep down I am jealous. I wish I could be as carefree and clueless as him still. "I just milked the cows," he announces with his usual loud voice, but Father hushes him immediately. "Today is a sad day, Lennie, so try and be quieter please."

"Papa, will Oceana be okay?" We all three turn in the direction of the small subdued voice in the doorway. My father pats his knee. "Come and sit here, Mae-Anna." She obeys, taking small shuffling steps and perching daintily on his lap. "Today two families here are going to be very upset, but chances are it won't be us. I'm sure Oceana will be just fine." Mae-Anna puts her thumb in her mouth. She always has a way with this sort of occasion. She will be subdued and worried up until after the event, and then she will practically explode into her usual hyper state. "Okay."

When I have finished my egg and toast, I go back up to my room. I have decided that my navy tunic makes me stand out too much, so I exchange it for my mother's old grey one from her first reaping. I already stand out enough with my blonde hair and blue eyes, which are a rarity in the poorer districts. I inherited features from my mother, whilst Lennie inherited his hazel eyes and brown hair from Father. Mae-Anna is an odd mixture of both, with honey-colored hair and brown eyes.

When I am done changing, Mother walks in. We exchange glances for a moment, when she whispers "Are you alright?" I am silent for a moment, then "Mom?"

"Yes?"

"I'm scared!"

She puts a comforting arm around me. "Think of all those names in the glass ball. Only ten of those thousands are your name. The odds _are _in your favor today." I am still sceptical, but am somewhat reassured.

"Can you do my hair, Mom?" I ask with pleading eyes. She sighs. "Fine." She retrieves my hairbrush and begins her work. Firstly, she takes a small section from each side and begins to plait, adding more strands each time to create two French braids close against my head. This is a hairstyle I love and she knows it, and I give her a hug. She hugs me back, and plants a small kiss on the tip of my nose.

At lunch, it is not just Mae-Anna that is subdued. We are all feeling nervous and do not feel like talking. My appetite is nonexistent, so I eat next to nothing despite my thoughts from this morning about my stomach rumbling during the reaping.

Suddenly the horn signifying the start of the reaping can be heard throughout the district. Two o'clock, brilliant. Time to watch two people get sentenced to death with no crimes. Two innocent teens to have a visit from "The Grim Reaper." Literally. I am so sure of this because of how few victors we've had in the past sixty-one years. Our back door creaks open as I push it gently with my right hand and my whole family exits our tumbledown cottage, me following behind.

Upon reaching the town square, I join a line of children waiting for their blood samples to be taken by Peacekeepers. I hated this process last year, and won't like it any more this year. My turn comes and I wince as the needle is embedded briefly into my forefinger, then withdrawn as I am forced to press my finger down on the paper. I am pushed roughly away by the next person in the queue. I glance back and see it is Anson Humberstone, the most hated boy at school, and I glare at him. He makes a horrible face at me in return and I dash away.

Someone points me to the pen where the other thirteen year olds are standing and fidgeting nervously. Each age group is separated by a piece of rope, beginning with the twelve year olds at the back, ascending in age towards the front where the eighteen year olds stand. Lucky them. Last reaping for them. I still have six more to endure.

A loud thumping noise echoes around the square and I jump. I feel foolish when I realise it is the sound of the microphone being tapped. I look up to the stage and see the escort from the Capitol; Vanilla Pasquareda. Her luminous yellow curls bubble over her shoulders and her lipstick matches the shade of her hair exactly, making my eyes hurt. She is wearing a tacky bright pink and green dress, so I guess highlighter colors must be all the rage in the Capitol this year.

"Welcome, all of you, to the reaping of the 62nd Annual Hunger Games! I'm so excited and I cannot wait to see what this year has in store! Well, enough about me, time for the tributes!" she announces with enthusiasm. Everyone from the Capitol is like this and I despise every single one of them.

"Ladies first, as usual!" she continues, dipping her hand into the glass bowl full of dread. She rummages around for around a minute, really building up suspense in the crowd. "Oceana Floreen!"

I glance around, my eyes searching for the unlucky girl. Then the name she read out sinks into my mind and my legs nearly give way. That unlucky girl is me.

Somehow I command my shaking legs to walk me up the steps to the stage. I see shock register on everyone's faces as they take in how young and small I am. I don't even hear the boy's name being read out until he joins me on stage. It's Anson Humberstone. The most hated boy at school. The boy who jostled me in the queue. The boy I most certainly won't want as an ally. He won't want any allies anyway.

"So here we have it, the District Ten tributes for this year's Hunger Games!" Vanilla addresses the crowd. "And how old might you be?" I realize she is talking to me now. "Thirteen," I mutter, drawing a few gasps from the people of my district who don't know me. Anson is well-known anyway but still manages a surly "sixteen" when asked of his age.

I take one last longing look at the people I know and love, including my school friends who have tears running down their faces, when I am swallowed by the doors of the mayor's house.

**Sorry...I didn't know how to end it really...until next time!**

**-FrozenXTitanicXHungerGames**


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